


Look Away

by DeadFeesh24



Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Do you need more?, I mean really self indulgent, Multi, Self indulgent self insert, Sighted Mundanes, This is literally an expanded grown up version of my childhood daydream, foster kittens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadFeesh24/pseuds/DeadFeesh24
Summary: Percival was born running; from day one their mother showed them the dangers of the shadow world, and worked hard to teach them to be safe. As an ex-Shadowhunter, it was the least she could do, and she taught her child well.  But so many others in New York City didn't have the privileges of a mom like Percival's.  So many sighted mundanes ended up hurt, or institutionalized, or worse, seeking out the things they saw they couldn't explain.  It was only right to try and share their knowledge.Or so Percival thought.  Then, Circle members show up at Pandemonium.(A self-insert fic centered around the child of a de-runed shadowhunter. Follows a mix of the tv show and book plots.)
Relationships: background Magnus/Alec - Relationship
Kudos: 1





	Look Away

**Author's Note:**

> This work takes pretty much everything from my actual life. The City of Bones and its sequels was a big part of my emotional life as a teen, as a mental escape from aaaallll the crap I was going through, and it still floats a bit close to my heart.
> 
> However, as someone who's lived in NYC for half a decade now, and has had family living there all my life, none of the versions of this world felt very New York-y, to me. I don't know how to describe it. Maybe it's a lack of rats? Of people pissing on subway tracks? New York is disgusting, my dude, I don't know what else to say. I have seen so many strangers' dicks.
> 
> What inspired me to actually write this instead of dream it was two things:   
> 1) There's 8.3 million people living in the five boroughs, and 20 million in the metropolitan area. You're saying that none of these people are sighted? None of them have ever seen the Shadow World? I know the wiki says something about this, but the answer always felt like bland handwaving to me.
> 
> 2) Everyone in the TV show is so dramatic! None of these people have any emotional intelligence, and they're sooo bad at talking about their feelings. Which I get, it's a TV show, gotta keep the audience watching, etc etc. I just thought it'd be funny to add an emotionally bland and away 20 something to the mix. In my experience, NYers have comically thick skin, but are also surprisingly rational and chill about their emotions, so none of this drama would hit in remotely the same way for people with NY attitudes.
> 
> If yall wanna do the same thing I did with my YOI fic and send me your sighted mundane or otherwise OCs, feel free my dudes. Let's have some fun!

Percival could make a better margarita at home, frankly. 

It’s fine, it’s tart, not too sweet, the tequila isn’t shit, and if they’re a little more honest, it’s a damn good margarita, but they’ve got a liter n’ a half of good tequila at home, plus a ten pound case of limes, and, honestly, what you sweeten your margarita with matters jack-shit; so even if you're out of cointreau or triple-sec or whatever, a honey or agave simple syrup will make a perfectly good drink in a pinch. 

Hell, once, when they were three-sheets-to-the-wind, Percival just poured smoked maple syrup up in that bitch and it worked just fine.

Point is; the drink is fine. Good, even. Not worth fifteen  _ fucking  _ dollars, though.

The first two were on Magnus, a little treat for finally passing their driver’s test, but the third and fourth came straight out of their poor, emaciated wallet. Yeah, Magnus has to pay the rent somehow, and DUMBO ain't cheap by any means, but the cocktail pricing here always felt a bit mercenary.

It makes for a slightly depressing, if still enjoyable, evening. They do truly like Pandemonium’s atmosphere from time to time; it’s electric, bracing, plenty of pretty human and non human faces, and sometimes, when a reckless mood takes them, it’s the perfect place to smooch a pretty girl. And most of the time they don’t even feel the need to take their baseball bat with them. (Not that the bouncer would let them past bag check with it, but hey, Pandemonium generally feels as safe as a Shadow World bar gets.)

Tonight Percival's got their eyes on a fey at the end of the bar with lines of silver pearls tangled in her curly hair. Her cheekbones shimmer like moonlight itself is painted over her dark skin, here and there dotted with more pearls. She keeps sending Percival warm, if not smoldering glances, between sips of her drink. 

Percival gives a too-earnest smile, but the fey girl cocks her head, ‘come hither,’ anyway, and in moments they’re at the fey’s side, clinking their half-empty margarita with her tiny frappe glass of absinthe. “I’m Avalon,” the fey says.

“Percival,” they reply. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” Avalon looks them up and down for a moment. “What’s someone like you doing in a place like this?”

“Celebrating a little, making friends.” They take a swig of margarita. “ _ Finally _ passed my driver’s test today. Only took me seven years!”

Avalon giggles, and slurps the last of her absinthe from the metal straw in her glass. “Congratulations! Do you have a car to show off?”

“Nah” —Percival shakes their head— “don’t nearly have enough money for that, and I'm drinkin'. _And_ besides, parking ‘round here is the worst.”

“I wouldn’t have any experience with that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

"Cars are seriously overrated, you're not missing anything."

"But you still got your license?"

"Mostly I got tired of carrying my passport everywhere for ID, but none of my friends can drive, so I thought I'd step up and take one for the team."

"I see."

“I can show off my foster kittens,” Percival blurts, pulling their phone from their back pocket. “That is not a euphemism by the way, I do mean literal kittens—”

Avalon eagerly snatches the phone from their hands. “Goodness! These are your wards?”

“Some of them have been adopted, but yeah, the black and white ones currently live with me.” There’s little left in Avalon’s glass, Percival notices, only some shards of ice and a nigh-clear puddle of absinthe and water. “Could I get you another drink?”

“Sure,” she looks up. There’s a smile on her face for a moment, but then Avalon’s eyes lock onto something over her shoulder and she freezes.

“Are you okay?” Percival follows her line of sight to two men across the crowded room; they’re built like tanks and dressed like Shadowhunters, hunting leathers and concealed weapons. It’s not completely uncommon for them to roll up sometimes, but these two, Percival has never seen before. 

Percival turns around and Avalon is already gone, the only indication she was ever there is the tiny, white-purple aster flower sticking out of the straw in her abandoned frappe glass.

Something is about to go to shit.

Looking back to the two unfamiliar Shadowhunters, Percival watches Magnus approach, hackles raised. The left hand Shadowhunter turns to sneer at him, revealing a raised, scar-like circle rune, high on his neck. 

Yeah, something is  _ definitely _ about to go to shit. Majorly.

Magnus raises a hand, magic rising off his skin like heat off blacktop, and the circle member rises with it, struggling against his magic. For a moment, Percival feels like a deer in headlights, paralyzed with with the sight of their impending doom. It feels like the whole club is lurching to a standstill, the marble floors slowly melting under their feet. There’s a high pitched ringing in their ears.

Then, the other Shadowhunter snaps his eyes to theirs, they can see it behind the cheap sunglasses, a split second of recognition before Percival makes their eyes go booze-soft, looking straight through and past him. Just a drunk mundane, wrong glance at the wrong time.

He turns back to Magnus.

Percival tucks the aster into their breast pocket and slaps two twenties onto the counter. Whatever is about to go down, they want no part in it. It’s bad enough that they just made a rookie mistake, looking straight on like that, to someone who was clearly glamoured, but they just had to do it to a  _ circle member  _ of all people. To the sort of person they’ve been trained to avoid at all costs.

Shoving through the crowd, they stagger out of Pandemonium. The adrenaline has sobered them up, but it took the same sort of approach as alcohol to their knees, turning them to water. Cold sweat starts to drip down their spine.

Outside, the air is still warm with car exhaust and the coattails of summer, noisy and damp and joyous. Groups of friends, couples, dog owners taking their last walk of the night flow past them as Percival hurries back home. Pandemonium is quite a ways from their neighborhood, but they can’t coordinate enough neurons to call for a cab. Instead they wearily let their feet guide the way home by rote, automatically dodging pedestrians and wondering what the hell it meant that two Circle members decided to pay Magnus’ club a visit. 

Because it meant something; it meant nothing good.

Percival’s mother, Amalia, is dozing on the couch when they return, facing the door. All three foster kittens are piled on her chest, their breaths rising and falling like placid water. They raise their heads in unison when Percival latches the door shut, and Mom wakes with a snort.

“Josie?” She’s the only person who’s allowed to call Percival by their old first (now their middle) name. “You’re home early.”

“Trouble at Magnus’.” They throw their house keys into the rolling cart by the door, then their wallet. “Big trouble.”

Amalia sits up. The kittens loudly bemoan the loss of their bed. “How big?”

“Two Circle members showed up to the club tonight.” Percival sat down on the couch. “Magnus didn’t seem too happy about it, but I left before anything actually happened.”

“Shit,” she hissed. “Did they see you?”

“Maybe, but no one followed me home.”

“What do you mean, _maybe?_ ”

“I accidentally looked one in the eye, but I made like a mundane and he ignored me. The other one had his back turned to me.”

“That’s not a maybe, Josephine,” their mother scolds. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I’m more worried about the Book Club,” they sigh. The other ones with the sight. The ones who didn’t have the guidance of an ex-Shadowhunter mother. Percival had made a ‘book club’ years ago to gather up as many as they could and watch over them. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it was better than letting sighted mundanes get hurt or killed in ignorance, or while seeking answers to the mysteries they saw every day. “If something is shaking old Circle members out of the woodwork…”

She nods. “I’d like to say that they’d look past mundanes, but I know that’s a risk you can’t take.”

“Yeah. Especially for Molly; she’s always sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“Hm, sounds familiar,” their mother says, glaring at them lightly.

Percival rolls their eyes. “I know when to split. Mama, you know I’m careful.”

The kittens climb over, yelling for attention at the top of their tiny lungs. Percival gave them breakfast this morning, but hasn’t been around past that, driving test and all. The little fluff balls recently grew legs, and with it, the ability to run and climb. Mostly they use their newfound ability to claw their way into Percival’s lap, carving tiny trenches of blood along the way. 

_ Adorable. _

Percival’s heart goes flitter flutter every time they see their little baby faces.

“I know, little one, I know.” Amalia stands up, dusting cat hair off her shirt. “Go put the kids to bed and get some rest. There’s nothing you can do tonight.”

They sigh. It’s not like they don’t want to rest. Sleep would be much welcomed after a night like this, but the adrenaline’s still free flowing, every gear turning. How the fuck… Who the fuck?

(They scoop up all three kittens and start walking upstairs.) 

...Those were real Circle members they saw at Pandemonium. Magnus doesn’t force-choke dudes for nothing. If it were a prank, he’d’ve sent them on their way with a dramatic spook or by simply calling a bouncer. Shows of force were reserved for actual threats.

And if something is a threat to Magnus, it is absolutely a threat to Percival. Magnus is a goddamn warlock with magic that could strip muscles from bone if he feels like it; Percival has a baseball bat.

If—and this is a big if, because if there’s one thing Percie believes in it’s their ironclad ability to play stupid—that Circle member saw and recognized them tonight, then no amount of running will save them. They’ll be hunted to the ends of the earth because they saw something they shouldn’t’ve, and those assholes have more stamina and determination that Percival ever will. 

(Percival shoulders open the door to their office, where the kids sleep at night, and gently pours them onto the floor.)

Percie only gets by because they don’t cause trouble  _ and  _ they’re not worth the effort; the overlap is important. At least, it is to the random downworlders they drift by. Why kill a swift fly that doesn’t land on anyone, let alone sting?

(They clean and refill the kittens’ water bowl. One does not simply add water to the stinky, three hours old water. ‘Tis blasphemy.)

On the other side, there’s no such thing as ‘not worth the effort,’ when you’re a Circle member. Any one of them would do anything to cover their tracks and stop the Clave from finding them, whatever the cost. Percival imagines visions of their apartment building razed, and wishes for all the margaritas they didn’t drink tonight.

Most likely, Circle-dude didn’t see them, but that still means someone is shaking the old apple tree and seeing what falls. Someone who knew the Circle’s aims, and resonates enough with them to get all the damn cockroaches to crawl out of the woodwork.

(Wash hands. Brush teeth. Fill spare dixie cup with water. Remove aster from breast pocket, place in dixie cup. Strip. Collapse face first into bed.)

However, anyone who resonates with that sort of folk is a threat to the Book Club. They tend to be easy targets, standing out in the Shadow World, despite Percival’s best efforts, not to mention that a good fraction have fey heritage, ripe for experimentation. The thought makes Percival want to walk into Manhattan and break down the Institute’s door. “Hey assholes,” they’d scream, “someone’s been going through the old Circle phone book*!”

*This implies that Shadowhunters in general know what a phone book is, and Percie has their doubts, but the point still stands. 

No matter how much they teach the Book Club about how to stay safe, how to look away from the Shadow World, none of them will ever have the experience, the instincts, that Percival got instilled in them from day one. The ducklings, as Percival sometimes calls them, just don’t have the awareness; they all grew up in the mundane world, thinking that they’d never be prey. 

Although they now know better, that’s not the same thing as having been born running.

Percival rolls over, cocooning themself in a mountain of stuffed animals and blankets. It’s too warm, but the weight settles them a little. Eventually they drift off, thinking about tangles of strategies and eventualities, of escape plans.


End file.
